The Devil's Door (12 page)
The countess came up to inspect her. Catherine stood nervously. Part of her was enchanted by the beauty and softness of the clothes. But another part was ashamed that these worldly things could give her such pleasure.
Mahaut pursed her lips. “I don’t suppose you brought any jewelry from the Paraclete?” she asked. “No, of course not. I know Abbess Héloïse too well to think she would allow such things. I was one of her first patrons, did you know that?”
“Yes, my lady,” Catherine said. “You’ve been very generous to us, I mean, them.”
The countess let that pass. “Well, then, I have a fancy to see you dressed as a lady should be. It would be fun to dazzle that new husband of yours. Have the holes in your ears closed during your time at the convent?”
Catherine rubbed her earlobes. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, if they have, a hot needle will take care of it. I have a nice little pair of earrings, gold and set with beryl. You may have them as my wedding gift.”
“Thank you, Lady Countess. You are very kind to me. I have no way to repay you,” Catherine said.
“You can include me in your prayers,” Mahaut answered. “And I may think of something else for you to do. Am I right in assuming that you were at the Paraclete when Alys of Tonnerre died?”
Startled, Catherine dropped the earring she was trying on into the rushes. With a sigh, one of the ladies knelt to hunt for it.
“Yes, I was,” Catherine answered.
“Did she say anything before she died?”
“Only that she wanted to be made a member of our order,” Catherine said. “She received the veil
ad succurendum.
”
ad succurendum.
”
“I’m glad to hear that she died in the life she most desired,” Mahaut said. “So. We still don’t know.”
Catherine started to ask what, then noticed that the woman hunting for the earring had stopped and was listening intently.
“I’m sure Our Lady will intercede for her in heaven and that she is now at peace,” she said instead.
“
Deo volente
,” Mahaut said as she blessed herself. “Poor Alys. We will speak of her later.”
Deo volente
,” Mahaut said as she blessed herself. “Poor Alys. We will speak of her later.”
Edgar was indeed dazzled by Catherine when she came down to the hall for dinner. But she was even more surprised by the change in him.
“Who are you?” she said as she took his offered hand.
He had been shaved and his hair trimmed, which altered his appearance somewhat, but from somewhere, he, too, had been transformed, from a student-cleric into a nobleman. His boots were of black leather, and his stockings and
braies
were also dark. His
chainse
was grey wool, embroidered at the neck in red flowers, and over it, his surcoat was red silk, with freshly goffered sleeves. He wore a gold chain around his neck and his surcoat was pinned with a brooch of gold twisted into a design similar to the one on her cross.
braies
were also dark. His
chainse
was grey wool, embroidered at the neck in red flowers, and over it, his surcoat was red silk, with freshly goffered sleeves. He wore a gold chain around his neck and his surcoat was pinned with a brooch of gold twisted into a design similar to the one on her cross.
“Your husband,” he said, with a smile that made her throat constrict. “I brought these to be married in, but there wasn’t time to change. I hope you don’t expect me to dress like this every day.”
“I’d be afraid to get close to you if you did. We’d never get ink stains out of that.”
He lowered his head to the level of her ear, as if to mutter endearments. “Catherine,” he said, “Solomon and I have been talking with some of the men here about Walter of Grancy. It seems he was near Tonnerre on the night the countess was attacked. There were others besides the count’s men who saw him.”
She brushed her lips across his cheek. “That doesn’t mean he did it. He may have been trying to rescue her.”
“You have no facts upon which to establish that hypothesis,” Edgar answered, kissing the tip of her nose.
“That’s quite enough of that,” Mahaut interrupted. “You cannot behave as if my home were the streets of Paris. Catherine, Gervais, here, will show you to your place. You, what’s your name? Edgar, go with Richilde. Richilde, this young man has just married the daughter of an old friend of mine. Keep your hands above the table.”
Catherine was rather glad to hear that. Richilde was radiantly blonde and fashionably flat-chested. Being loved by a man was too new an experience for Catherine to trust her ability to compete with someone like that. When she considered the situation, it seemed much more likely that Edgar would suddenly start up, announce he’d been enchanted by a witch but was miraculously healed and then hurry back to Scotland as fast as possible.
Richilde was pouting. “Is that one married?” she asked, pointing at Solomon.
He winked at her.
“I presume not,” Mahaut said. “You may put him on your other side, Richilde, but my admonition holds for them both.”
They had all been set at the lower tables. The countess of Champagne entertained at all times on a grand scale. Catherine guessed there were more people in the hall that afternoon than the convent maintained in a year. Gervais, the page, had put Catherine between two men of about her own age. The one on her left glanced at her, but she apparently did not meet his standards and he turned away.
The man on her right smiled at her. “I’m Lisiard. My father is provost of Chateau Saint-Thierry and I should warn you that my uncle, Isembard, is the count’s cook.”
“I would never criticize the food,” Catherine assured him. “I’m Catherine LeVendeur, of Paris, and I’m so hungry, I’d eat saltless gruel.”
“Have no fear, Uncle will provide you with better than that. Wait, … LeVendeur. Hubert’s daughter?” Lisiard asked. “He sells wine to us.”
“Does everyone know my father?” Catherine asked.
“Most people in this area, I would say.” Lisiard grabbed a pitcher going by on a tray and poured wine for Catherine and himself. “It’s rare to find a merchant who’s honest, smart and Christian. Doesn’t he also have connections with the abbey of Saint-Denis?”
Catherine nodded. She craned her neck along the side of the table to see how Edgar was doing. He and that Richilde seemed to be discussing something seriously. One of her hands was under the table, but she was relieved to see it was on Solomon’s side.
“Do all these people eat here every day?” she asked Lisiard.
“Oh, no, it changes all the time. I don’t know all of them. Most of the usual men have gone with Count Thibault and King Louis to put down the commune at Reims. You know about that, don’t you?”
Yes, she knew. Catherine had a certain sympathy with the burghers at Reims, who, like many others recently, had formed groups to try to win tax and toll concessions from the local lords. Sometimes they got what they wanted, but other times their demands were refused. When that happened, too often the result was violent protest. The king had just crushed one such commune at Poitiers. Catherine felt it was his own fault in the case of Reims, though. If Louis hadn’t allowed the episcopal see to stay empty so long, the townspeople wouldn’t have taken matters into their own hands. However, she didn’t want to get involved in a discussion about that. People tended to have strong opinions and express them forcibly.
“Are there any people here from Tonnerre?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.” He looked up and down the table. “The count’s men usually dine with the lady Constanza, his mother-in-law. Of course, they are mourning the death of his wife, now. He would want them to join him in his prayers for her.”
Catherine wondered how many prayers Count Raynald had authorized. Then her attention was distracted by the arrival of food. The pages had finally finished serving the high table and were passing out the trenchers of bread and slabs of meat, with dishes of sauces. It was all Catherine could do to keep from tearing into her share like a savage. Lisiard picked up his meat and let the juice drip into the bread as he continued.
“The man up there, last at the countess’s table, is Nocher of Montbard. He is in the service of Walter of Grancy.” Lisiard stopped and looked at her.
“Oh?” she asked, as she tried to rip the meat from the bone without splashing on her borrowed clothes.
“You have heard how Raynald of Tonnerre is saying that Walter killed the countess Alys?”
Catherine nodded. She picked up a napkin to wipe off the juice that was running down her hands to her wrists.
“Did he?” she asked.
“Well,”—Lisiard’s voice lowered and Catherine leaned closer to hear—“I’ve heard that there were others closer to her who would have liked to see her dead, especially since she wasn’t able to provide the count with an heir. Or perhaps that wasn’t her fault. They say he has no bastards.”
“But she …” Catherine caught herself. She hadn’t considered that the baby Alys had miscarried might not have been her husband’s.
“That is kitchen gossip, of course. The most reliable kind. You wouldn’t believe what they hear in the kitchens.” Lisiard smiled. “I have a friend there, and she tells me such things. She has a sister in the lady Constanza’s service, and between them, I think they know everything that happens from here to Paris.”
“And they know something about Walter of Grancy?” Catherine said, trying to sound uninterested. “And the countess of Tonnerre?”
Lisiard smiled and poured more wine. Some spilled on the tablecloth and it occurred to Catherine that he had started drinking before he had come to dinner.
“Walter is a good man,” Lisiard said. “He was fond of Alys. And Raynald really wanted the other one, you know, Alys’s half sister. But Constanza wouldn’t hear of it. Just as well; the sister died years ago, a fever or something. Anyway,”—he gestured with his meat, leaving spots of grease on Catherine’s arm—“anyway, Walter may loathe Raynald and argue with him over that blasted forest land, but he would never have hurt a woman.”
Catherine could well believe that. There were rules, after all. But something else Lisiard had said caught her attention. “Forest land? What forest?”
Lisiard yawned. “You know, west of here. Makes no sense to me. It’s thick with oaks and thieves and werewolves. I wouldn’t kill anyone over it.”
He yawned again and reached for the pitcher. As he did, he looked at the high table. Nocher of Montbard was frowning at him. When he caught Lisiard’s eye, he motioned for him to leave.
With a sigh, Lisiard got up, stumbling a bit over the bench.
“I forgot to mention, I’m in service with Nocher for now. My older brother gets our castle, so I have to try to earn my own.”
He leaned down to speak to her again. “I can tell you a lot more about Raynald of Tonnerre and his family, if you like gossip, too. Perhaps you’ll sit with me again, tomorrow?”
“If the countess permits.” Catherine smiled at him, then closed her eyes against the reek of his breath. She was already cataloging in her mind the information she had just been given, and could hardly wait to share it with Edgar.
The meal lasted well into the evening. At the end,
gastels
and dried honeyed apples were passed around, along with sweet raisin wine. A man came in with a
viele
and began to play and chant a story, but after a few lines, Catherine recognized the
Vie de Saint Alexis
and lost interest. With no one to talk to, she fiddled with her cup. The man on her left roused himself to offer to pour her more, but she shook her head. She didn’t want to drink too much raisin wine, although she loved it. In case she and Edgar found a place together, she didn’t want to fall asleep as soon as she lay down.
gastels
and dried honeyed apples were passed around, along with sweet raisin wine. A man came in with a
viele
and began to play and chant a story, but after a few lines, Catherine recognized the
Vie de Saint Alexis
and lost interest. With no one to talk to, she fiddled with her cup. The man on her left roused himself to offer to pour her more, but she shook her head. She didn’t want to drink too much raisin wine, although she loved it. In case she and Edgar found a place together, she didn’t want to fall asleep as soon as she lay down.
She looked down the table at him again. Richilde had turned her attention to Solomon. Edgar was looking back up the table at her. She tried to smile at him, but all at once her exhaustion, the wine and her longing were too much and she began to cry.
He was with her in a moment, settling into the place Lisiard had vacated.
“I liked the barn better,” she sniffed.
“So did I,” he answered. “Do you ever think we’ll be alone again?”
“Oh, I hope so,” Catherine answered.
She took his hand.
Even a seemingly interminable evening is eventually over. The countess signaled the end of the meal at last. Solomon got up and came over to where Catherine and Edgar were still seated.
“I’m going back to Joseph ben Meïr’s tonight,” he said. “That woman is entirely too friendly. She has brothers. Very large and stupid brothers. I don’t think they would appreciate me.”
“Will you be safe walking back?” Catherine asked.
“Yes; you didn’t notice our path here,” Solomon told her. “The Juiverie is almost in the shadow of the count’s palace. And not by accident.”
“Very well,” Edgar said. “We’ll meet you tomorrow on the steps of Saint-Frobert.”
After Solomon had left, the page, Gervais, came up to them.
“Countess Mahaut has asked me to show you to your bed,” he said with a flourish. He was about ten years old and full of his own importance.
“Did he say bed?” Catherine said hopefully.
He led them to an alcove between floors. It was small and curtained off. The boy tried to pull the curtain aside, but was too short. Edgar did it for him.
There, crammed into the space, a bed had been set up. A proper bed with a mattress covered by several feather beds. There were blankets and soft linen sheets and bolsters covered in fur. How they had managed to assemble it in such a small area, Catherine couldn’t imagine.
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